Kindred Spirits
by afewreelthoughts
Summary: Portraits of Prince Auguste and Kastor growing up (or at least trying to) alongside their little brothers. (Warnings for canon-typical discussions of sexuality and the Regent, though nothing graphic. If you wish to avoid this subject altogether, skip Chapter 3.)
1. Zero and Twelve

The second prince of Vere arrived a month too soon.

The royal physician somberly informed King Aleron and Queen Hennike that he would do everything in his power to save the child, but also reminded them that he was only mortal, and if this child did not live, they still had a healthy heir. The queen had survived the birth – that alone was a blessing. His assistant, a man named Paschal, was the one to reassure the royal couple that they should not lose hope.

Auguste's brother had come into the world quiet and still, and Auguste thought that must be a good thing. Most babies cried and fussed all the time, and weren't their mothers and fathers always complaining about it? Maybe his little brother would be quiet. He would like that.

Auguste felt out of place standing next to the crib in his mother's bedroom. He wanted to leave, but no one had dismissed him. Everyone was speaking to each other as though he could not understand what they were saying, as though he might as well not be there. How could they not realize that Auguste was twelve years old, so he understood everything now?

Auguste had asked all of the wet nurses at court every question he could think of in the months leading up to his new sibling's birth. They had to answer him honestly – he was their prince, after all, and Auguste wanted to be ready, in case he was ever called upon to take care of his little brother or sister. So now he knew everything he needed to know.

Despite all of that, the royal physician did not seem to think the baby's silence meant anything good.

Auguste leaned over the crib. His little brother looked like he was sleeping peacefully, his impossibly tiny fingers curled into fists. If something was wrong, why could they not fix it? Auguste felt helpless, staring down at his brother. He wanted to do something, so he picked up the baby. He remembered to cradle his head the way the wet nurses had told him to. He held his brother close to him and rocked back and forth.

It was several minutes before he felt any movement in his arms. When he did, he stopped rocking. Big blue eyes that seemed to take over his baby brother's entire face stared at Auguste in a way that convinced him that this newborn could see into his soul. Auguste stared back.

Then his brother screwed up his face and wailed.

Auguste jumped. His mother, his father, the physician, and Paschal all stared at him.

"What did I do wrong?" Auguste said. "I'm so sorry!"

The royal physician scooped the baby from Auguste's arms and carried him to his parents.

"Auguste, what did you do?" his father said sternly, heavy bags around his bleary eyes.

"I just picked him up," Auguste said. "Did I do something wrong?"

His father seemed at a loss for words, and just shook his head, holding his queen closer.

Auguste watched the crying child in his mother's arms. "Hello. I'm your brother," he said to him. "We're going to be very good friends."


	2. Six and Fifteen

Kastor's little brother giggled. All the time. It was infuriating.

"He's six years old," Kastor's mother said. She laughed gently and ruffled her son's hair. "You were just as adorable when you were that age."

"I was _never_ like that!" Kastor muttered and fixed his hair.

Kastor's little brother Damianos was a chubby kid who tripped over his own feet. Kastor knew that all children that age were silly and clumsy, but this one was different because he was the crown prince. Kastor found it ridiculous that grown men bowed to him and that slaves three times his age took his orders. As if a child that age knew what he wanted – much less what other people did!

Clumsy though Damianos may be, it never stopped him from climbing on everything he could get his chubby hands and feet on, which sent the palace slaves and physicians into a panic. Usually their concern was unnecessary, because Damianos was not yet tall enough to get far in his adventures, but it meant that more often than not the entire court was fussing over a rowdy child.

To make matters worse, the boy followed Kastor everywhere! He was surprised no one else had noticed.

"He won't leave me alone," Kastor grumbled to his mother.

"He looks up to you," she said, reclining on her couch in the sun. They were sitting on a terrace overlooking the palace gardens, where little Damianos was busy chasing the palace dogs and giggling every time he fell over, which was often.

"He's selfish," Kastor muttered.

"He's a child!" his mother said and laughed. When she caught sight of Kastor's sneer, she just smiled again and closed her eyes.

When Kastor had complained to his friends about his little brother, they all assumed he resented Damianos for taking the crown from him. But they were wrong; Kastor did not want to rule! Who would? Since he had turned thirteen, Kastor had been instructed to sit in on his father's meetings with the kyroi, but all the political talk sounded empty and unimportant to him. In the years that followed, Theomedes hoped his eldest son would take an interest in at least one corner of the realm. But that was not to be.

In the yard below, the dogs had knocked Damianos over again, and this time they descended on him, licking his face and his bare feet. Damianos laughed.

"Maybe if you stop treating Damen like a child, he'll stop acting like one," Kastor's mother said.

"But you just said…" Kastor whined, but received no reaction. She was not paying attention.

Kastor left his mother on the terrace and wound his way through the palace gardens, trying to find somewhere he could be alone. It was not long before he heard his footsteps echoed by tiny bare feet. Kastor heard a small giggle. "Leave me alone," he said, without a look back.

When he started walking again, Damianos was still following him. "I want to be alone!" Kastor said. "Please." He thought he had finally left his little brother behind this time, but tiny footsteps still padded after him.

Kastor whirled on his brother. "Why won't you stop?" He spoke as harshly as he knew how, but little Damianos did not seem to understand his tone. The little boy just stared up at him stupidly. "Go! Go away!"

Kastor did not wait for a response, and instead spun on his heel and started running, weaving in and out of the trees. Over the past year, Kastor had grown nearly a foot, and it looked like he would never stop growing. Now he was glad to have legs as long as his little brother was tall. The wind on his face felt wonderfully cool, and just as he was sure he had left Damianos in the dust, he heard a small thud, followed by crying.

Damianos was lying on a smooth, exposed rock, holding his chin. Kastor ran back the way he had come.

"Now what did you do that for?" he said, sitting down next to his brother.

"I wanted you to pay attention to me," Damianos said.

Kastor rolled his eyes. "It's not worth crying over," he muttered. "Now let me see that." He carefully peeled his brother's fingers away from his chin. There was a shallow, bleeding scrape, but no real damage. Kastor tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his chiton and pressed it against the cut. "Let's get you back to the palace."

"Will you carry me?" Damianos said, holding out his arms almost imperiously.

"No!" Kastor not only objected in principle, but he had also grown up long and lanky, while Damianos still had all of his baby fat. And more, Kastor thought to himself; but then he recalled his mother's words, Maybe if you stop treating Damianos like a child, he'll stop acting like one.

Kastor crouched down to his brother's level. "I'm not a slave, I'm your brother. And I can't carry you all the way back."

Damianos pouted. Kastor supposed the cut still hurt him badly. He stood up, and held out a hand. Damianos grabbed it tightly and hung on the entire walk back to the palace.

When they returned back to the carefully cultivated part of the palace gardens, a slave swooped down on them.

"What happened?" the man was staring at Damianos and the now blood-soaked rag on his chin. He wrapped the child up in his arms.

"I fell," Damianos said.

The slave was joined by other men and women, servants and courtiers. One or two threw dirty looks in Kastor's direction.

"I got him back as quickly as I could," Kastor said.

When they carried his little brother back to the castle, Damianos looked back over his shoulder and waved to Kastor. There was a somber expression on his face. Kastor waved back, but he rolled his eyes. He had never been so dramatic as a child.


	3. Seven and Nineteen

"I put spiders in his bed," Laurent said matter-of-factly.

"You did what? To our uncle!" Auguste stood up and put his hands on his hips, glaring down at where his little brother sat perched on the edge of Auguste's bed.

Laurent did not look guilty at all, simply blinked his big blue eyes at his brother. "Well, he was very rude to me today, Auguste. You remember."

No other seven-year-old would have perceived it as rudeness. Then again, no one else was Auguste's little brother.

That day, Laurent had joined Auguste, their father, and his courtiers in a royal council meeting regarding their treaty with Akielos. Laurent's brief visits were a symbolic gesture, just like Auguste's had been twelve years before, but Laurent took them far more seriously than Auguste ever had. As their father's advisors talked and talked and talked, Laurent listened. He listened and listened, his blue eyes darting about the papers scattered on the table. His tiny finger traced a line on the giant map at the center.

Councilor Herode had been the only one, other than Auguste, who was watching the little prince at all. "What do you think, Prince Laurent?" he asked.

"All my tutors say that all Akielons are barbarians," Laurent said to the council.

"Then they are teaching you well," their uncle said, smiling through his heavy beard. No decision was made at King Aleron's court without his brother by his side. Auguste found the man overbearing and unkind. No one else seemed to share his opinion.

Their father said nothing.

"I think if they really were barbarians, they would not be a threat to us," Laurent said.

Their uncle threw back his head and laughed. Councilors Guion and Jeurre joined him.

"Maybe the boy is not old enough for these meetings, Aleron," their uncle said.

"If I'm wrong, tell me why," Laurent said calmly, a blush covering his cheeks.

Auguste hated to watch it. It was rudeness – an incredible level of disrespect to any prince, even a child. But when he opened his mouth, their father laid a hand on his arm. "My brother means well."

 _He does not mean well,_ Auguste thought. _He does not like it when other people are smarter than him._

But he had listened to their father and said nothing.

Auguste breathed deeply and tried to look even more disapprovingly at his brother, who was still smiling over his prank. "He was rude to you, so you put spiders in his bed?"

Laurent rolled his eyes.

"Laurent…" Auguste sighed, and then his eyes widened as something occurred to him. "They weren't poisonous spiders?"

Laurent rolled his eyes again. "Where would I get a poisonous spider?"

His little brother's eye for revenge should not have comforted Auguste so much; but now was not the time to mention that.

"You know why what you did was wrong?" Auguste said in what he hoped was his sternest voice.

Laurent looked ashamed for the first time since coming to Auguste's room with a sly grin on his face, eager to tell his brother what he had done. "I don't like him, Auguste."

Laurent had a better instinct about people than Auguste ever had; but now was not the time to mention that, either. "You outrank him. You know that, don't you?"

Laurent shook his head, his gold hair swaying with the motion. "I won't have any authority over him until I come of age."

"Then you can get poisonous spiders, right?" Auguste scolded.

Laurent looked down at his feet, kicking them back and forth on the end of Auguste's duvet.

"I am going to fix this," Auguste said, trying to keep the disapproving edge to his voice, "but next time you make a mess, you will clean it up yourself."

Laurent nodded.

"Stay here," Auguste said. He did not let himself laugh until he had turned the corner at the end of the hall. His little brother would be fine. Auguste used to worry, when Laurent would crawl into his bed after a nightmare, that if something ever happened to him, Laurent would suffer alone, but he did not need to worry anymore. His baby brother was growing up as lethal as any courtier.

The doors to their uncle's private chambers were locked, but before Auguste could knock, he heard a scream. Auguste muffled his laughter.

"Get them away!" shrieked a second voice.

Auguste stopped laughing.

This second voice was small and shrill. Perhaps it was a woman's; but it did not sound like one. Auguste's insides started to churn.

"They're not poisonous. Look," his uncle said in a scolding tone. "Besides, they are dead. I killed them."

The second voice was crying.

Auguste pounded on the door.

The voices hushed, and his uncle walked slowly to the door. When he opened it, he had a pleasant smile on his face. "Prince Auguste, what a pleasure."

Auguste's head spun. He breathed deeply and tried to think of what Laurent would do in this situation, and the solution became clear to him.

"I'm not here to speak to you," Auguste said. "I need to talk to the young man who is here with you."

His uncle's eyes narrowed. "Who says that anyone is here?"

A boy who could not have been older than eleven or twelve peeked his head into the doorway to his uncle's bedroom. Auguste recognized him as the son of one of the lesser nobles. "May I speak to him?" Auguste held himself at his full height, chin lifted high, and pointed to the boy. He did not know the boy's name, but he was the crown prince, and his uncle could not refuse his order.

His uncle smiled. "Of course."

The boy almost ran to Auguste's side.

Auguste tried to calm his own beating heart. "Goodnight, uncle," he said.

"Sleep well, nephew," his uncle said, the pleasant smile melting from his face as he shut the door.

Auguste led the boy into Laurent's rooms. Dusk was falling, and only a small sliver of sunlight remained. "Won't you sit down?"

The boy nodded and sniveled, sitting at Laurent's desk and running an embroidered sleeve across his nose. He had big blue eyes.

"May I ask your name, young man?"

"Louis, your highness," the boy said, looking around anxiously at what he knew were a prince's rooms.

Auguste realized then how little he knew of children who were not Laurent. He did not know how to begin to talk to this boy, even if they had met under very different circumstances. Auguste thought about what had interested him at that age and made a wild guess.

"Sir Baptiste, who lives at Ravenel, is looking for a new squire. I have come to offer you the position."

The boy's eyes lit up. "Yes, yes, thank you, your highness! I want to be a knight! Your uncle, he said – "

"Never matter what he said," Auguste snapped, not eager to hear whatever came after that. "Go back to your own rooms tonight," Auguste said. "And tomorrow, tell your father that the prince thinks you would make an excellent squire. I will speak with him about the arrangements."

The boy nodded. "Thank you, your highness."

Auguste felt sick to his stomach as he parted ways with the boy and found his way back to his own chambers. He tried to tell himself that he had done his best in an awful situation: if successful, his plan would remove the boy from his uncle's grasp, and give him a chance to be something other than a court pet. He liked to think Laurent would have been proud.

He opened the door to his chambers.

"Auguste?" Laurent stood up. How small and fragile he looked. Auguste picked him up and held him tight, Laurent's long hair draped over his face. "Auguste, is everything all right?"

"You know I'll always be there for you, don't you?"

"Yes, I know," Laurent said, no hesitance or uncertainty in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Do you want to go for a ride, Laurent?" Auguste said.

"It's very late."

"Yes, but we're both princes, and I want to. Do you?"

Laurent smiled.

At the stables, they found a boy willing to saddle Prince Auguste's horse. "If anyone is looking for us, we will not be far," Auguste said.

He cradled Laurent against his chest as they rode, Laurent's hands tangled in the horse's mane. By the time they reached their destination, the moon had risen, and its light spilled across the ground.

Auguste dismounted and lifted Laurent off of the horse after him.

"It's beautiful at night, isn't it?" Auguste said.

He had led them both to Laurent's favorite part of the palace grounds, a clearing with creek running through it and small pool at its center, fireflies twinkling in the air and reflected in the water silvery with moonlight.

"It is," Laurent said.

"Be careful," Auguste said.

Laurent nodded and ran after the fireflies. He caught them one by one and brought them back to Auguste, who thanked him and let them go. When Laurent was bored with that, he removed his shoes and stockings and waded into the water.

"Auguste! Come in!" He picked his way through the rocks in the creek.

"You wait right there!" Auguste said. As he pulled off his boots and joined Laurent splashing in the cold water, he swore to himself that no one would ever hurt his brother.

He would not let them.


	4. Fifteen and Twenty-Four

Damen never stopped giggling, even when he grew up.

Kastor loved his brother, but he still found it impossibly irritating. To watch a grown man and a powerful warrior who had just triumphed at the athletic games, his curls shaking beneath his crown of laurels… it made no sense.

Damen had also stayed just as silly as he had been as a boy. The heir to the kingdom of Akielos believed that everyone liked him and that his slaves all loved him, and it annoyed Kastor even more that he may be right. Everyone from the sons of the visiting kyroi to the servants in the palace were drawn to him like moths to a flame.

"I was far more grown-up at his age, even though I did not compete," Kastor had said to their father earlier that day. "He is too young. You should not allow it."

Theomedes had grinned. "I am so pleased to see you care so much about Damen." He clapped Kastor on his shoulder. "And I am so glad that I chose to raise you as brothers!"

"We are brothers," Kastor said.

Kastor knew he was right in that. Damen was too young to compete in the games. He could be seriously injured, or even killed. Theomedes seemed to think such things were impossible, perhaps that royal blood could never be spilled.

"Do you remember when I fenced with Damen two years ago?" Kastor had said. Damen had begged to practice with real blades, so Kastor had switched their wooden practice swords for steel and had sent his through his brother's leg.

"That was your carelessness, Kastor," Theomedes said. "Damen knows how to take care of himself."

Kastor found himself praying that something ill would befall his brother that day – nothing serious, just enough to remind Damen – and their father – that he was not immortal.

Not only did nothing happen, but Damen won a laurel wreath in wrestling and sat with the other winners for the rest of the day, glowing in their admiring gaze.

Kastor had come in second in the trident, but won no crown of his own. He was congratulated, but the time of the celebratory feast was underway, he felt so desperately lonely that he drank glass after glass of griva, and staggered out to the terrace when he needed fresh air more than alcohol.

There were two giggling voices outside, two bodies in sheer white fabric entwined with each other on a marble bench. Kastor began to walk away from them, when he recognized the voices.

"Is this all right?" his brother asked.

"I find your laurels irresistible," a woman said. Kastor recognized her voice, too. Kalliope, one of Kastor's own slaves. Kastor had not yet bedded her. She was young – only a year or two older than Damen – and she was still anxious when they were alone together. Kastor had hoped that one day she might lose the last of her anxiety. Clearly that day had already come.

Kastor cleared his throat.

Damen glanced over his shoulder casually. "Yes, brother?"

Kalliope sprang up. "My Prince, I did not see you there."

"Go back to my rooms, Kalliope. Do not worry – you have done nothing wrong." He should be furious, and he was, but not with her.

Kalliope picked up her skirts and practically ran past Kastor into the palace.

"She is…" Damen said.

"My slave? Yes."

Damen's jaw dropped. "Brother… I did not know."

Kalliope was a blue-eyed beauty, just the sort that made Damen into a love-struck puppy. He would not have thought to ask. "Of course you didn't." Kastor turned around. He could not stand the sight of him.

"Kastor, wait!" Damen caught him by the arm. "I'm so sorry! Please tell me what I can do!"

"You can do nothing. I need to go now."

"I wasn't going to do anything else with her. We were just kissing."

"It never occurred to you to ask if she belonged to anyone else?" Kastor snapped.

"I asked her if she wanted to be with me, and she said – "

"I want to be alone!" Kastor said.

"I heard you were worried about me earlier today," Damen said, perhaps hoping that changing the subject would make a difference. Kastor rolled his eyes. "I'm glad I have a brother like you."

"Two years ago I stabbed you. I'm far from a decent brother."

"You didn't mean it!" Damen said, a stupid smile on his stupid face. "Just like I didn't mean this! I promise!"

Kastor tilted his head to look intently at his brother, and suddenly it all made perfect sense.

His brother Damianos, the heir to Akielos, was an idiot.


	5. Twelve and Twenty-Four

At the first of the year, Auguste had resolved to teach Laurent to fence, and his brother had been fascinated by it… for about three months. Laurent was twelve now, and his mind was always racing to the next thing it could master, and, like every twelve-year-old, he assumed that he had mastered it far too soon.

"It's… a little boring," Laurent said that morning, after losing a match against Auguste. Auguste tried to let him win every so often, but no so much that Laurent would become suspicious.

"Boring? Oh," Auguste tried not to show his hurt. Auguste always felt old when Laurent did not want to spend time with him.

Laurent smiled, as if he could read Auguste's mind. "I like spending time with you, but this… you're wasting your time with me."

"Why do you say that?" Auguste asked.

"I'll never be big enough to make a difference in a fight."

"You can be small and quick and deadly." Auguste tried to tap him on the arm, but Laurent's sword was already in position to block him. "And this will be useful if you're never called on to fight against Akielos." They would be at war within the year, Auguste knew.

"I don't want to fight in a war," Laurent grumbled.

Auguste admired his brother's convictions more than he wanted to admit to himself. "What if you have to defend my honor?" he said instead.

Laurent lunged and aimed his practice sword at Auguste's right leg.

Auguste parried. "They're all barbarians, you know."

"They probably think the same of us," Laurent said.

"Laurent…" Auguste felt a catch in his throat, and he hesitated just long enough for Laurent's sword to touch his arm.

"Yes!" Laurent said, and jumped up and down. "Yes, yes! I win! And you didn't even let me this time! I know it!"

"Laurent," Auguste said and set down his sword.

"What, now that I won for real, we're not playing anymore?" Laurent got back into his starting position. "This is fun."

Auguste did not pick up his sword. "I need to talk to you, Laurent."

Laurent's face fell. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's… nothing's wrong."

It was a perfect afternoon, sunny and clear, with a cool breeze stirring the warm air. It would be a crime to ruin such a day.

"Will you sit down with me?" Auguste said, settling himself on a set of marble steps leading to the palace.

Laurent sat and listened. He did not disturb the silence.

"We're going to war," Auguste said.

Laurent said nothing for a long time. Eventually he extended his legs out in front of him. "Now?" he asked gently.

"No," Auguste said, "but soon. I know it. And I want you to be ready. Not to fight, but… to be there?" Auguste felt helpless. He had never seen a real battle before, so he had no idea what to tell his brother about it. "Father might want you to join us."

"I'd like that," Laurent said.

"And if Father tells you to go home, you'll do that, too. You'll represent us at all the court functions."

Laurent sneered. "Won't his brother do that?"

"No. You will. You are the future of Vere."

Laurent nodded solemnly. "At… every court function?" He wrinkled his nose.

Laurent had disliked the pet performances on the few occasions that he had been allowed to see them. "I don't want to be here, Auguste," he had said the first time. Auguste had wanted to assure him that it was all for show, that it wasn't real. But before he could say anything, Laurent had said, "And you don't either."

Auguste cleared his throat. "Not at every occasion. You're still young."

"There will be some things I will never wish to do."

"Like what?" Auguste said, leaning back on his elbows and lifting his face to the sun.

"Like having a pet."

"You should," Auguste said. "When you're much older," he amended.

"You haven't."

Auguste fought to hide his blush. If Laurent knew why he had never taken a pet, he would be ashamed of him, and Auguste would not be able to stand it.

"What?" Laurent said.

"Nothing," Auguste said.

"You don't like boys. That's fine!" Laurent said.

Auguste blushed crimson. "Wh-why do you say that?"

"Because," Laurent said like it was obvious. "You don't look twice at the male pets, but you can't take your eyes off of that courtier's daughter… what's her name, Nathalee?"

Auguste hung his head and groaned. "It's not important," he said. "Lots of people want things they can't have."

"But it's not something you can't have!" Laurent said, in disbelief over Auguste's despair. "When you come back from war, I'll find someone for you to marry!" Auguste put an arm around his little brother, so that Laurent could not see the tears in his eyes. This was stupid. He would be at war soon; that would be the right place for tears, not here, not now. "We'll find you the perfect wife! But you have to promise not to love her more than me," Laurent said teasingly.

Auguste nodded and held him and promised.


End file.
